Nail in the Coffin
by Yorkziea
Summary: Plankton has been planning the downfall of his long-time rival, Mr. Krabs, for decades. Now when the time has come to execute his schemes he does not care how many innocents or bystanders will have to hurt to drive the knife in once and for all.


"_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP!"_

Laboriously opening his bloodshot eyes, it was clear to the squid that this was another day where he couldn't rest properly. Not that there was ever a day that he could. The blue cephalopod knew he had to rise from his bed eventually or he would have to keep listening to the incessant chime of his clock, but he really wished he didn't have to. Regardless there were bills to pay, and so he begrudgingly rose from his bed using his arms to drag his feet from under his blanket.

He turned off his alarm and slowly made his way to his bathroom. Bathing, like for many other fish, was beyond a shadow of a doubt the most enjoyable part of the squid's day. But for him when there was no other time for himself to fully relax and enjoy the simple pleasures, it was a godsend. The squid began to warm up the water within the tub and applied his favorite oils and bubble soaps. Once it was to his liking, he threw off his nightgown and descended into the water. A groan of contentment escaped his lips as the water engulfed him. He felt like he was in his own personal sea, devoid of obligations and commitments. It was only him and the water around him for miles. Sadly, for the squid this was not true, no matter how hard he wished it to be. But for the moment he was content to live in this ideal environment, in fact, so content he began to drift off into sleep without even realizing.

It was only until a certain yellow sponge screamed his name from the ground telling him he was going to be late, echoing into his second-floor bathroom window, that he was startled awake. He leapt out of the shower from the abrupt shock and slipped on his ceramic tilling, hitting his head on the edge of the tub on the way down and sustaining a nasty gash on the right side of his head. "So much for my peace.", the squid lamented to himself poison dripping off every word for the sponge that had caused this. The squid carefully rose to his feet and drained the bath tub. He dried himself off while treating the cut he had with gauze and disinfectant, albeit, clumsily. He was rarely wounded, possibly because of his was deep aversion to blood, or because he was rarely wounded, he was so averse to blood. Whatever it may be Squidward simply didn't like it at all, and so quickly put his mind to other things, like the fish that caused the wound.

Squidward didn't like either of his neighbors, but where Patrick was mostly contained within his own home, Squidward was forced to share both a living space and a working space with SpongeBob. He didn't necessarily hate him, but it was hard to like him. Squidward sighed as he walked back into his bedroom and pulled a greenish brown shirt from his drawer instinctually. Squidward made his way downstairs to his kitchen and was about to prepare a nice breakfast for himself, until the yellow alarm outside his down screeched his name again, warning him if they don't go Mr. Krabs would be angry at them for their lateness. Squidward knew no matter how long he tried to wait out the persistent sponge he would always relent eventually, and so with heavy heart the squid took a piece of bread to tide him over as his breakfast until his lunch break and made his way out the door.

The yellow fish practically bounded at him as soon as he was visible, and began talking a mile a minute while Squidward just let himself lock his door and begin the trek to work with his annoying, but well-meaning neighbor. The squid never really paid much attention to whatever topic the sponge decided to schizophrenically switch to, and only occasionally responded with unamused "Uh-huh", "Yep", and "Okay" 's. The sponge seemed to be talking about a garage sale he would be having to get rid of some old junk, from the few words the squid picked up. SpongeBob seemed to tire himself out momentarily as he slowed down and eventually stopped.

In the brief moments of quiet Squidward pondered his relationship to SpongeBob further. He was never sure _why_ the sponge even waited for him everyday nor why the squid even walked with him to work. Its not like he needed company it was quite the opposite really, especially when if said company was SpongeBob. Maybe because it is routine? A decade and change of this cycle, Squidward would feel uneasy just cutting and running from SpongeBob. Or at least that's what Squidward told himself. He dreaded to admit or even acknowledge the possibility that he actually enjoyed the conversations he and SpongeBob would have, if you could even call them conversations. Squidward idly looked toward the sponge who seemed to be fiddling with his belt, as his pants were slipping. That was odd. He never really cared, but he had remembered a few weeks ago when SpongeBob had sold his old clothes after they became too big for him to purchase more form-fitting ones. Now they seemed to have also become to large for him. He was distracted from his train of thought as SpongeBob announced they were close to the Krusty Krab.

He was in fact correct, as they crested a small incline, they could see the old, mossy wooden walls and supports holding the aged structure together. As of recent the Krusty Krab had fallen on hard times. Some lesser informed people would say fish simply got tired of the outdated menu and décor of the place so went to more trendy restaurants, but Squidward chalked it up to the management.

You may think your boss is an asshole, but you have truly never met an asshole boss without having to work for Mr. Krabs. He's the greediest, slyest fish around and that was even before things started turning south for his prized restaurant. Squidward once heard that Mr. Krabs' unsuccessful "competitor" across the street, Plankton, worked with him to create the Krabby Patty's "secret" formula—it's really just as much grease as you can pack into a burger without it exploding and making the poor bastard eating it only 60% more flammable; it even says that word for word on the browning, crumpled piece of paper that holds the recipe—and when Krabs tested its success, he kicked Plankton off the project and got his name solely as the intellectual owner of the Krabby Patty. Squidward could believe it, he once had to argue with the crab for over four hours to admit that he was skimming money off his paycheck for weeks. Then if that wasn't, he enough he had to argue with him for another three hours to make him return the money he was stealing. He only was able to convince him after threatening to take his complaints to the Department of Labor, and _boy_, did he really blow up after hearing that. It was as if the crab in his infinite wisdom and his bottomless greed took possession of the platonic concepts of avarice and bastardry for himself. Knowing what Squidward now knows about Mr. Krabs he didn't blame Plankton for despising the crab.

What's worse was that as the store declined Mr. Krabs' greed spiked. His avarice blocked any real renovation or even repair of the Krusty Krab, which most likely drove more customers away, which lost the restaurant more money, which made Krabs greedier and more money-grubbing. It truly was a vicious cycle. Squidward pushed open the cracked glass windows flanked by SpongeBob, and had his senses immediately attacked by the putrid odor of the place. Grease, sweat, fat, and whatever chemicals that are injected into the patties to make them so addictive swirling through the air. It was just terrible enough to make Squidward wish he could have removed his sense of smell permanently.

Squidward proceeded to the front of the room as he entered into his horribly tacky model of a boat that was uncomfortably pressed tight up against the rusted metal walls. If the squid squinted, he could overlook the chipping faded green paint on the floors out in his peripherals and focus on his book while SpongeBob got the restaurant ready for customers.

Not like Squidward could get much reading done anyway. Mr. Krabs had already started his morning routine of drunkenly stumbling out of his office to yell at both him and his yellow co-worker.

"GET THE _HYELL _OFF YOUR LAZY ASSES AND START WORKIN'. WAZSING TIME IS WAZTING _MY _MONEY. YOU SHOULDSA HAVE BEEN HERE _HOURS_ AGO!" the red crustacean hollered, spittle and chunks of unfinished food landing on the already dirty floors.

While Squidward had been used to Mr. Krabs shouting at them for the most inane and nonsensical as of recent, it still came as a rough surprise for SpongeBob as he flinched from the Krabs' slurred speech.

The sponge hurriedly rushed through his morning duties while Squidward pretended to check his station and the register. This seemed to appease Mr. Krabs' sudden spike of fury, and he retreated back into his office. While the sponge seemed to still be under the spell of the crab's intimidating presence—continuing working despite the crab no longer being able to see them—Squidward simply lazed back carefully on his boat catching a few more minutes of shut-eye before any unfortunate fish wandered in, ignorantly mistaking the Krusty Krab for being an actually proper restaurant.

_LINE BREAK_

Rush hour was the only time the Krusty Krab had enough patrons in it concurrently to be defined as an actual fast food joint rather than a shack in the middle of a partly abandoned highway that occasionally served heart attacks masquerading as food. That is to say a dozen or so. Despite this increased performance, Mr. Krabs' mood only seemed to worsen the latter the day went on, and that was the only thing the squid couldn't fault him for. However, it still was infuriating watching him drive his own customers away with the shouting he was doing in his office then turn around and blame Squidward and SpongeBob for "poor performance" and then try to subtract pay from them.

In fact, Mr. Krabs' seemed to be in an especially prolonged tirade against what he presumed to be a legal official(?). Maybe serving all this dangerous food had finally come back to bite the crab in the ass or a scorned business partner had decided to finally call out the red crustacean. Squidward didn't have to strain to hear the crab's argument as it echoed out of his thin office walls into the restaurant.

"IF YOU CAN'T DO YOUR JOB AND _DEFEND _ME FROM THESE VULTURES THEN I WILL FIND SOMEONE WHO WILL! WHADDAYA MEAN THEY WANT ME TO _PAY _MY WORKERS MORE? THOSE LAZY BUMS GET WHAT THEY WORK FOR IF THEY EVEN BOTHER TO WORK AT ALL!" Mr. Krabs hollered and the cashier could just imagine the already ruby colored shell of Mr. Krabs turning bright red like a ripe cherry

He chuckled at the mental image but had to quickly switch his expression as a customer walked—no—waddled his way towards the register. Just from a cursory glance at the fish Squidward could tell he was grotesquely fat. Pale, yellowish grease seeped out of the rolls that cascaded off his body like dead weight; the faded and condiment stained orange shirt that he must have bought when he weighed a few dozen less pounds hung tightly like a full-body noose around the fish's upper chest and forearms. Wet, matted hair jutted out from under his chin as the fish kept readjusting his pants to stop exposing his pelvis which was covered in dimples and scars. The squid immediately turned his head downward toward the register before he had to chance to analyze more of the customer's horrid features. Squidward could hear the customer beginning to speak, and much to his dismay the fish's voice added no points to his attractiveness. It was bassy and nasally with arrogance dripping from every syllable, Squidward could tell he was—and maybe still is—that kid that reveled in correcting everyone and anyone around him no matter the mistake.

"_Hmmm…_ Yeeesss _I _would loike a—" The fish began before abruptly stopping. "HEY! Worker…? Worker…? You there? Look at me when I'm ordering from you!"

The squid wincingly brought his head to meet the fish and was revolted further to see half chewed food inside his mouth that he held open despite not talking. "Yes, what would you like sir?" Squidward said trying half-heartedly to mimic a chipper tone much like the yellow fry cook just behind him

"Fuynally… I was afraid you'd fallen asleep on me… Nyaow as I wahs saying, I would looiiike…." The large-bodied customer began before losing his train of thought.

Squidward discretely rolled his eyes as it felt like an eon had passed before the morbidly obese fish resumed, "I'd ratha knyot hav' my usual today…. What would you recommend?"

"_My _recommendations? You've already tried the whole menu." The squid joked quietly to himself.

Unfortunately for him, the large fish heard and contorted his face into an aghast expression. His lip quivering with rage and his mouth threatening to spill out more unchewed food, the fish's voice rose in anger, "W-well! I-if that's how you treat your loyal customers maybe… maybe I-I should seek otha businesses to feed me!"

"Mmm… yes if you are the type of customers, we are serving the Krusty Krab really cannot afford to lose you…" he said trailing off, every syllable soaked in nonchalant sarcasm.

"Olright, then! I'll—I'll—I'll take my hard-earned money down the street and see if they knyow some semblance of customa serviz! The greasy fish practically wailed, felling his blood begin to boil at the blatant disrespect he was enduring.

"_Your_ hard-earned money?" The cashier repeated in a condescendingly dubious tone.

The customer's face began to redden further until it was the same shade of deep crimson as the onions, they placed on their burgers. By now the commotion had gotten everyone in the restaurant's attention as they sat and enjoyed some verbal entertainment along with their meals. And as the war of words raged on—more accurately a one-sided ridicule—they would react audibly. Each jab the cashier threw at the heavy-set customer earned him more chortles and snide remarks from the crowd at the customer's expense, which only emboldened Squidward further, carried by the "adoration" of his newfound audience.

All this ruckus drew the attention of the crimson boss back in his office, as he unceremoniously hung up the phone in the middle of his legal adviser's sentence, and walked briskly out of his personal quarters to see what the hubbub was about. After all, to him, laughing, happy voices were voices not making money.

He threw open the door to catch the tail end of one of Squidward's insults which left the customer flabbergasted and the audience in hoots of laughter. Krabs couldn't believe it; his own cashier driving away his mon—customer! The crab knew immediately what he had to do and with a sharp intake of air through his nostrils he bounded over to the cash register and began to shout directly in Squidward's face.

The crab began, "**WHAT IN NEPTUNE'S NAME ARE YOU DOING ON THE DIME THAT I'M PAYING YOU!? INSTEAD OF WORKING LIKE SOMEONE WHO WANTS TO KEEP THEIR JOB, HERE YOU ARE LOLYGAGGING LIKE A DAMN GOOD-FOR-NOTHING PRETENDING TO BE A CLOWN FOR THESE HARD-WORKING BAGS OF MON-PATRONS**!" which sounded to Squidward as if Mr. Krabs had just blew a gust of wind at him through his mouth rather than just formed words to insult him with.

Shocked and dumbfounded, the squid sat there, mouth agape wondering where he went wrong to earn this as his boss prattled on and on ejecting spit all across the squid's face. Sure the crab had yelled at him louder and crasser in the past, but never blatantly in eyeshot of customers, that's what really had the squid stunned to silence. Now with the squid being the one embarrassed, he truly learned the fickle nature of the masses, as the ridicule and ire of the crowd was redirected from the portly fish to him, while said portly fish decided to back away towards his seat trying to exit the ongoing blast's radius.

After a few minutes of this the crab finally began to wind down, but not after scaring away additional customers who entered the building hoping to be served to see both the boss and cashier absorbed in what they thought must have been a major issue, but was in actuality a petty, power-tripping squabble.

"If you can'ta serve me custamas then maybe you'd enjoy cleanin' the bathrooms?" the crab spat out ultimately coming to a close, thrusting a toilet brush and a bucket of water towards his employee simultaneously.

Still astonished at what just unfolded The teal cashier turned janitor skulked off towards the bathrooms simmering rage present with every step he placed on the rickety structure's equally rickety floors; the squeaking wooden washroom door swinging back and forth past its busted frame being the only indication of the cephalopod's former presence; Krabs beginning to impatiently attend the following customers.

_LINE BREAK_

The small seaweed-colored plankton was not happy. Not that he was ever happy, but today especially he was in a particularly sour mood. The cause being apparent when one noticed the only other thing the plankton paid any more attention to than his prized, yet perpetually empty, restaurant and his wife. What he had installed an obscenely large telescope into said empty restaurant—which doubled as his home—much to his wife's annoyance. None other than his "competitors" across the street, The Krusty Krab. However more specifically he was observing its owner, the stingy bastard himself, Mr. Krabs. Through his observations of his rival he was able to garner the information that the Krusty Krab had been on a steady decline for months if not years, and Mr. Krabs either had no money to fix it or had no will to part with the money that would fix it. He had been mired in a legal battle involving that irritatingly, loyal fry cook, that he knew would sink the crab eventually. However, after stewing his revenge for years and years Plankton wasn't content with sitting on the sidelines and just waiting for the crab to go slowly into the night. He wanted results and he wanted them now, no more waiting, no more delays, he would drive and twist the knife in now. And as he stared into his telescope—steering it past the Krusty Krab's boss testing how high a volume his vocal cords can reach and having his unfortunate cashier measure—into the small window just past the cashier's booth where he could see the nervous fry cook anxiously flipping patties and trying to ignore the tumult only a few measly, inches past his station, Plankton began to deviously formulate what he would do,

_LINE BREAK_

It was closing time at the Krusty Krab, and the only reason Squidward knew that was because the gauze patch he had put on his forehead earlier in the day threatened to fall off synchronized with the passing of every hour. No doubt if he didn't keep track of the time himself, Krabs would have been satisfied to leave him here overnight. It was a miracle how Squidward had not thrown up in the grime and feces covered bathroom, and it was an even greater miracle that he had been able to make any sort of dent within that disgusting mixture covering the walls, floors, and practically everywhere you went in the bathroom at all. The squid was perplexed how the bathroom ever even _got_ this dirty since he never knew anyone to use it. The smell—which was somehow even worse than the Krusty Krab—usually drove people away and if that didn't work then it would be the look of the place. Squidward was only able to persevere because he had braced himself for it, having his station located right next to the bathrooms proved to be an unforeseen boon as he had been able to adjust slightly toward the smell as to not fall unconscious or vomit immediately after opening the door. Not to say spending his time there was easy, but he was relieved that it was over.

As he picked up his tired body and meandered toward the door, the aforementioned crab burst through the door almost cracking Squidward across his sweat and filth-covered face. Just past the crab's blockade Squidward could see the glimmer of the setting sun out towards freedom, The crab arrogantly inspected every nook and cranny of the bathroom, and as he progressed the sneer on his face drooped further and further until it was an unamused grimace. The crab clicked his teeth in the same manner a disappointed parent would do to their disappointing child, "It seems like you are going to have to spend unpaid overtime working on these bathrooms, they are filthy!", he said as he scraped a piece of greenish, oozing sludge off the walls, "Did you even put any work into this or were you just slacking off and sleeping in one of the stalls? You look tired enough to just have woken up…" his maroon boss reprimanded.

The squid may have been tired, but that was the last straw. But as he began to open his mouth to speak, his mind already formulating the many ways to tell the crab to "fuck off", his boss suddenly closed the distance between them in a single step. He was so close he could see the spots where the crab had cut himself shaving in the morning.

Mr. Krabs had got threateningly close to his cashier, dragged him down so that his ear was directly aligned with his mouth, and whispered in a poisonously sweet voice, "Me old bones are tired and sore, and I wouldn't want to have to have to report ye for _that_ incident, would I?" The mention of it got Squidward to immediately freeze, and while glowering back at the crab, hate evident on his eyes, he began to turn back away from the door.

"And to make sure ye don't try and skimp out 'n me, I'll have me _favorid_ employee SpongeBob watch over ye!" the crustacean finished with the yellow sponge waving awkwardly from behind him, eyes downcast with a hesitantly quivering smile and looking like he would rather be anywhere else other than here.

The squid cracked a menacingly forced smile, and before he could do something that he would regret, he restrained himself from throwing the crab out the bathroom by pushing him as lightly as his infuriated body would let him and shut the door to the bathroom, but just before it fully closed he could see the sun had now lowered itself past the horizon sending Bikini Bottom into a inky black night. Just as the sun had set so too did Squidward's chances of leaving.

Neptune, how he hated his boss, the cashier turned overnight janitor despondently mused as he redonned his protective gear, grabbed his cleaning utensils, and resituated the gauze bandage on his forehead.

_LINE BREAK_

It was late past midnight before Squidward deemed he could no longer do anything more for the bathroom. Sure, there were still stains in places, but the only way to get those out would have required tools more expensive than Squidward had access to. He was given some wet wipes, a simple toilet brush, and some generic brand disinfectant, and the squid was close to certain Mr. Krabs still deemed that an excess luxury. Whatever he was finally done, and that's all he cared about, he knew he would have been able to convince SpongeBob to leave as soon as Mr. Krabs stopped supervising them hours ago, but the next day would have been another hell, so the squid decided to get it done today rather than just wait for screaming later. Squidward pushed open the door nursing a headache as he tried to imagine what few hours of glorious sleep he will get when he returns home to soothe the sharp, ringing pains in his skull.

As soon as the squid came into view of SpongeBob, he leaped from his seat and began to tail him, locking up the restaurant as they walked towards the door. The sponge didn't seem to be feeling the effects of the time, unlike his more morose blue counterpart, and immediately started recounting some dull story to Squidward.

While he may have been able to withstand the onslaught of words on a different day, today he was already suffering from overwork and an aggressive migraine, and that compounded with the sponge's annoying comments was not a recipe for a mollified squid. The already tired squid tried his best to ignore the incessant nag that was following him home, and silently prayed he could not keep up such a pace of words for their entire journey

Unfortunately for Squidward… he could.

After close to fifteen minutes of nonstop talking, the pounding in Squidward's head would not allow him to ignore the sponge any longer. In a voice trying desperately to mask his fatigue and indignation the squid said his first words in over six hours back when he was ordered, not, threatened to stay overtime, "SpongeBob… Why exactly are you talking to me?"

"Well obviously because I haven't gotten to the best part of the story on how Grandma had to put out the Patrick's oven fire when they were having their bake-off, silly!" the sponge bubbled up

The yellow fish's happy tone only seemed to irritate Squidward further. He never had as hard of a life as Squidward had, and because of this he was always so damn happy. He was well liked, his boss didn't despise him and intentionally try to ruin his work life through blackmail and threats, and he never seemed to be bothered by _anything_. Maybe it was the green flame of jealousy burning bright within the pits of his stomach and rising out towards his mouth for release, but as he focused on these aspects of SpongeBob's life he blurted out something he knew he would regret, "No," he said sharply cutting the sponge off, "_why_ do you follow me around _every_ _damn _day talking and talking and **TALKING**! Why not leave me alone already?!"

The sponge looked taken aback by the sudden emotion of Squidward, and after a second to collect himself he began to mutter, "W-well tha-that's because you're my friend! Ye-yeah, my friend!" the sponge said sounding as if he was more trying to convince himself of that rather than the blue cephalopod in front of him.

The squid throwing caution to the wind, decided to get everything off his chest; it was already too late to go back now, right? The squid quickly closed the distance between him and the sponge with quick, angry stomps across the pavement, thrusting his finger directly into the yellow fish's malleable skin, "If you are so close to your _friends_," malice drenching every word, "then why don't you go hang out with Patrick or Sandy, or hell Mr. Krabs?! Why must you bother me instead of them!?" the squid practically yelled the last part.

"U-uhm," the sponge started out uneasily, disturbed by the question, "Well... uh-umm… me and Pat—"

"I DON'T CARE." The squid interrupting the answer to his own question. "I'm not your friend! I never was your friend! And I'll never be your friend! You are an annoying little prick that sticks to me every day, and you're so **BLIND **you can't even see how annoying to me you are!? How can you call _THAT_ a friend?! You don't even know me, and I don't care enough about your happy-go-lucky life to even _TRY_ to learn anything about you! _You_ have it SO fucking good, how about you look outside yourself for one measly second and realize how much other fish are suffering out there and they don't need you JUMPING into their lives talking about your bullshit all the time!" Squidward's veins began popping in broiling anger as his face turned a terrible shade of scarlet. The gauze bandage on his forehead threatening to spill off at any moment.

"U-uh Squidward… t-the ban-bandag—" the sponge started before being cut off again

"Oh YEAH THAT REMINDS ME! Do me a favor! Next time don't come wake me up in the morning I don't need you as my personal alarm clock! I have one already thank you! And no, before you ask, I don't EVER want to walk to work or to home with you again!" The squid shouted out at the sponge

"Oh… okay Squid—" the sponge crestfallenly started off before the squid cut him off for a final time "Stop talking to me." The squid muttered definitively poison in his tone

The rest of the walk home was bathed in awkward silence as SpongeBob raised his hand in a half-hearted wave and whispered a barely audible farewell to Squidward, who was too distracted by his own rising inner guilt to hear it.

The squid may have not _liked_ the yellow fish, but he was not that much of an asshole to mean all of the things he said. He was influenced by his sleep-deprived headache and redirecting his internal anger and anger at Mr. Krabs at the nearest outlet to receive it, and that happened to be SpongeBob. He knew that wasn't fair to the boy, and as he entered his house and splashed on the couch, deprived of all energy to even walk up the stairs into his bedroom, he resolved he needed to apologize to the yellow sponge tomorrow. But for right now he'd get some much-needed sleep…

_LINE BREAK_

Squidward blurringly opened his eyes as he blinked once twice then three times. He lifted his aching head confused to where he was since his surroundings didn't much look like his bedroom. He drearily lifted his head and began to focus his vison, and as the image around him became sharper the highlights from last night became more vivid in his memory. Along with those memories came guilt. But before he could ruminate on that too long, the squid glanced at the clock he had hung on his wall, and realized he was late. The kind of late where you have to apply heaps of cologne and deodorant since you don't have enough time to shower and just simply hope no one comes within a few feet of you and notices. Squidward for a moment wondered why his next-door neighbor hadn't come wake him up, until he was reminded again of the events of last night and shamefully retracted those thoughts. Squidward had no time for breakfast and so with a flurry rushed out of the house wearing a pound of cologne and his sweaty, stained clothes from yesterday. He whipped his head toward SpongeBob's pineapple house and reasoned he was already probably at the Krusty Krab, so he would have to apologize for last night there, and continued rushing towards the Krusty Krab, hoping he would only get a half hour lecture if he could double-time there.

Panting, sweating, and doused in an overpowering smell of cologne, Squidward burst through the cracked doors with such power that he almost may have shattered them completely. He quickly readjusted his gauze bandage that he didn't have time to replace in the morning, and braced himself for the screams that would inevitably come his way. Surprisingly he found the restaurant relatively empty instead of the beet red crustacean he had expected to encounter impatiently tapping his foot on the crumbling floors. From the window behind the cashier's station, Squidward saw the characteristic flipping of patties, and pieced together that he must have been SpongeBob who covered for him. Squidward thanked his lucky stars and made his way over to the kitchen to both thank SpongeBob for the save and apologize for the words he said to him last night, the guilt only weighing heavier on Squidward's mind since the sponge did something so nice for him.

The squid gently pushed the door open and was bewildered to see not SpongeBob grilling the hamburger meat, but Mr. Krabs. A _livid_ Mr. Krabs. Turning over to see who entered the kitchen the crab started with, "If ye's wants to oidah thens ye haf to do it in the front, I'lls be with yous in a min—" the crab stopped in his tracks, noticing who was at the door, and if he was mad just cooking the burgers then he was properly _incandescent _when he saw Squidward.

He flew at him, throwing his spatula aside and wrapping his claws around the squid's shoulders. He began to holler so loudly that fish outside the Krusty Krab could hear it as he violently shook Squidward, "FINALLY ONE OF YOUZ GOT OF YUH LAZY BUMS AND SHOWED UP! I'VE BEEN HAFIN TO FILL IN AS FRY COOK AND CASHIER WHILE YOUS WERE OFF DOING NEPTUNE'S KNOWS WHAT, WASTING THE MONEY _I _PAY YOU! NOW WHERE'S THAT YELLOW LITTLE SHIT SO I CAN YELL AT HIM TOO?"

Squidward could only reply, still in a daze, with a confused, "S-SpongeBob's not here?"

This only aggravated Mr. Krabs further, "OF CORZ HE ISN'T YOU JELLY-BRAINED NIMROD! IF HE'S NOT WITH YE THEN YOU BETTA GO FIND HIM OR ITS BOTHA YA JAHBS! AND IF YE'S NOT BACK HE-UH IN HALF A' HOUR THEN YE FIYAHD!" the crab angrily commanded

Squidward could do nothing but mumble incoherently as he tried and failed to piece together the scrambled mess of a puzzle of information Krabs had just laid out for him

"_**NYYYYYOWWW**_" the crab screeched so hard it was like he was inviting a heart attack

However, it seemed to startle Squidward out of his daze, as he rushed outside the restaurant as quickly as he had rushed in.

Squidward couldn't believe it, not only was Krabs angry at his "favorid" employee, but SpongeBob was _late_… SpongeBob was _never_ late. Hell, he had won on-the-spot fictional awards from Mr. Krabs for never being late or missing a day in the year a decade running. _Hell_, his goddamned motto was about being on time! Squidward knew something was wrong as he dashed as fast as he could back up then down the hill he came from towards SpongeBob's house. He hoped it was simply that he overslept, after all "they" had spent a while cleaning the bathrooms last night and the squid practically passed out when he got home and overslept as well. Y-yeah that must be it, Squidward rationalized in his head. Yet deep in the recesses of the cephalopod's mind—not that he would ever admit it—, he had a sinister feeling that something was amiss, and that he was partly to blame.

_LINE BREAK_

Squidward caught his breath after reaching the large orange, pineapple house's metal door, and without stopping to think he opened it. He would have stopped himself midway realizing that the door would be locked and tell himself he had to fish for the spare key under the well-worn, pea-green welcome mat, if the door's vault lock had not kept spinning without a hitch. That was… _strange_… SpongeBob usually locked his door. Maybe he forgot, the sponge was not known for his excellent memory and he may have been too distracted by the hour and… Squidward's unfortunate outburst. Never mind that for right now Squidward had to look for SpongeBob, so Squidward shook the thoughts from his mind and continued opening the door. Once he pushed through, light was able to stream through distressingly dark room as Squidward made his way closer.

He tried calling the sponge's name a few times futilely from the safety of the door frame, and while he knew it wouldn't work, he at least wanted to try. As the squid stepped into the house, he shivered almost immediately from the almost supernatural chill of the atmosphere that Squidward was so wary of. He found it odd but simply covered himself with his own arms to preserve warmth and headed inside.

Squidward closed the door slightly behind him, still allowing some light to illuminate the dark living room, and only then was he able to take a good look around at what was in SpongeBob's house. Or to be more accurate what _wasn't_ in SpongeBob's house. Squidward never really visited SpongeBob's house in the past, but he was _sure_ he had more than this. All that was in the abandoned-looking living room was a single inflatable, rocking chair and a collapsible table that were placed in the center of the room, making the rest of the room appear even more vacant. And upon closer inspection, the rocking chair seemed to be tattered and roughly patched up and tattered again to the point that it would seem no one could sit on that comfortable without breaking it. Speaking of closer inspection, Squidward decided to look more carefully at the fry cook's living room and could tell from the indentations on the ground and the dust outlines of familiar-looking shapes that there had definitely been furniture here before.  
The TV used to be there, the couch used to be right up against the wall, his record player was in the center-right of the room. Squidward wondered where he moved or sol—that was it! One of the only things Squidward had remembered from the "talks" he and SpongeBob had was the frequency he mentioned he was having garage sales, only because it was something Squidward dreaded. The ruckus those sales would cause always seemed to disturb Squidward at the most inopportune times, and it seemed to the turquoise squid that he was _always_ having them. Now that that mystery was solved, he was content to continue on undisturbed, and the question which arose on _why_ he sold all of his stuff, was promptly ignored by Squidward.

He moved past the eerily empty living room and proceeded to the intersection which led to the stairs to SpongeBob's bedroom. This dimly lit part of the house gave Squidward an uneasy feeling, but the thing that had captured most of his attention was the pale blue glow that shone just around the corner of the corridor and the low hum that also seemed to originate from the same source. The squid turned his body slowly from the steps up to SpongeBob's bedroom and as much as his brain told him not to go investigate, he pressed on regardless of what it warned him about and rounded the corner, ready for whatever was causing that glow. The silly "battle" stance Squidward had taken proved to be unworthy of the threat, as once again Squidward psyched himself up for a nonexistent problem. The glow and the hum were only coming from the SpongeBob's fridge that he seemed to have left open for the entire night. Deciding to do something nice for the sponge as an act of atonement—and knowing how much of a pain it could be paying overcharged electricity fees—Squidward gently shut the door to the fridge. Yet as he closed the door, he couldn't help but look inside to see… nothing. Absolutely nothing was inside SpongeBob's fridge. Not a single item of food, hell not even water! Just like his living room his fridge was also empty. Again, Squidward thought how strange that was, but he did not want to pry further into the sponge's business in a private place that his concern was not welcome. Squidward finished closing the refrigerator and while that improved the temperature slightly, the air still remained brisk within the house. Though Squidward did wonder why SpongeBob didn't turn his radiator on if it was always so cold in his house… maybe he was used to it? As Squidward exited the kitchen he also made sure to close the pantries that were left ajar in the sponge's kitchen for inexplicable reasons, and at least these weren't as empty as the sponge's living room and fridge. There was a definite lack of utensils, and he only seemed to have one dull knife, but there were some cans of food, though Squidward didn't stay long enough to check whether or not they were able for the sponge's consumption rather than his pet's.

The squid knew he was only putting off going to see the sponge, because of the uncomfortableness of the meeting considering the events of last night, so the squid swore to himself that he would stop wasting any more time and march straight up those stairs into the sponge's bedroom. And that is exactly what Squidward did, with a flurry he readied himself and practically ran up the SpongeBob's many steps into his bedroom

As he flung the door open and almost off its rusted hinges, the squid was knocked backwards and back into the stairway leading to the bedroom by the room's repulsive odor, Squidward have never known SpongeBob to be particularly well-smelling but he was at least passable in public. While not to the same level of revulsion as the Krusty Krab bathrooms that Squidward had to endure, it came close, _damn_ close, too close for comfort in fact. Once Squidward had collected himself he was ready to face the room's stench again which had already begun wafting out of the room and into the stairwell.

He stood in the doorway again, and this time he was caught by surprise to see the chaotic, cluttered mess that was SpongeBob's room. Clothes were strewn about everywhere, hanging off the bedframe and dresses, but were mainly piled inside an overturned hamper in a disgusting mountain of unwashed clothes. Papers filled the room, laying wherever there weren't clothes, making it impossible for Squidward to even see the floor of SpongeBob's room. Other miscellaneous items seemed to just lie about on the ground or on dressers unattended and in awkward positions, giving the impression to Squidward that they most likely didn't belong there. Squidward had been to SpongeBob's room before, and while it never was the pinnacle of tidy living it never looked _this_ bad. His vague memory could even recall that it was actually pretty meticulously organized albeit in a messy fashion.

All in all, it looked more like a hoarder's paradise more than SpongeBob's room. It's as if a fight had taken place there or a tornado localized entirely within SpongeBob's room and blown through everything there. Squidward scanned the room for SpongeBob, and after a moment was able to spot him lying peacefully in bed under his red floral sheets, back turned toward Squidward and the door. Looking at him from this perspective, a small smile came to Squidward's lips. The sponge who was so annoyingly energetic, active, and larger than life when awake looked so peaceful and small when sleeping in his bed. Squidward didn't know how the yellow fish could sleep so soundly in such a loudly sloppy room, but decided that that question didn't need answering. Just observing the difference of conscious SpongeBob to sleeping SpongeBob was interesting to Squidward. The contrast from unawoken and woken SpongeBob, made Squidward thoughtlessly wish that SpongeBob could stay asleep forever. Wiping those thoughts from his mind, Squidward remembered why he was sent here and not wanting to waste any more time called out again to SpongeBob to rouse his yellow coworker…

No response.

He called out again…

No response

Squidward never knew SpongeBob to be a heavy sleeper, but with a great sigh Squidward decided he would have to take a more direct approach. Carefully stepping into SpongeBob's room to avoid pressing his feet on anything he wouldn't want to, Squidward made keen pace toward SpongeBob's bed. Once at his bedside Squidward called his name again, but didn't wait for a response as he placed his hand on SpongeBob's shoulder to shake him.

SpongeBob's skin was cold and moist to the touch, which alarmed on its abnormality Squidward until he remembered just how cold it was in SpongeBob's house, it seems he too had gotten used to it. Squidward gently shook SpongeBob to try and wake him, but to no avail. Growing more and more impatient and losing more of the time that Krabs had given him, the cashier began to get more forceful with his shakes. He soon shook SpongeBob so hard that he turned completely over and was now laying face-up, covers being thrown off of him and onto the floor. Squidward audibly gasped at what he saw in front of him.

Blood… oh Neptune... the blood it was everywhere around him. On his bed, on his clothes, on his pillows, on his shee—SpongeBob didn't have a red floral blanket… Squidward distinctly remembered that the blankets had always been purple. Meaning… Squidward had to force his hand toward his mouth quickly to keep the rising bile in his throat from spilling all over the floor as he dropped to his hands and knees. Squidward's view became hazy and distorted. He felt nauseous and dizzy and used the bedframe to hold himself up. The sight of the unsecured bandage on the squid's head falling lightly towards the ground and into the sponge's heap of trash and clutter, despite being right in front of his eyes, goes completely unnoticed by Squidward as he frantically begins denying what he just saw. Surely his brain must be playing cruel tricks on him, after all he hadn't gotten enough sleep that night or the night before. He must be hallucinating that's the only possible explanation, right? Right?

And as Squidward convinced himself of that reality, he used the poles of the bedframe to slowly rise back up to take another, _real_ look at the perfectly alive SpongeBob.

What he saw was worse than what he had turned over. The shut eyes of SpongeBob with a deep cut along his throat with faded red blood caking his yellow skin and his mattress. The pale crimson colors drained over the left side of the bed and onto Gary. The squid was never good with blood and his knees give out on him from the sight, only remaining upright through his death grip he has on the sponge's bedframe. He looks toward the sponge's hands and notices a bottle of sleeping pills being lightly clenched by the deceased fish in his left hand. Squidward's breath is ragged as he haphazardly maneuvers his wandering and blurry vision over towards SpongeBob's right hand to see him clenching a crumpled-up piece of paper. The squid leans his body's weight supported by his own right hand on the bed's frame and reaches out his left to snatch the paper, having as little indirect contact with the… body… as possible. The squid can already guess what the note will read, and only skims his unsteady eyes over the paper, not reading but more _looking_ at the words, and sure enough he finds his most dreaded and his least hoped for word in the hastily scrawled rant

"_**Suicide**_"

As much as the squid wishes to deny it, the paper proves his worst suspicions, as the squid places the paper down onto the bed, and slowly watching every footfall, makes his way around the bed and towards its left side, in search of the only other thing that could cement the reality of the situation in Squidward's mind.

As long as he couldn't find the weapon, he would be fine acknowledging this as only a morbid drea—laying a few feet from the bed and only inches from Gary, who himself had his intricately patterned shell hidden by a deluge of blood yet somehow slept soundly still, laid the glinting knife. More attention couldn't be drawn to it as it was beautifully refracting the small beams of light that were able to make it through the dust and dirt covered window above the sponge's bed into a mingle of different shades. Its edge slicked with the red dripping blood of its ultimate victim who also was its perpetrator. Wonderfully carved with the sharpest of fringes, the squid found himself gruesomely admiring the craft of what had taken the sponge's life. The knife scowled at him with a red, manic sneer as hot tears began to touch Squidward's eyes.

Preview of Chapter 2: The Gild Rusts

Squidward rose from his armchair at the sudden knock on the door. He tentatively made his way toward the door and opened it painfully slowly. He looked forward ready to be bombarded with what the world saw fit to throw at him after the solemn affair that was the funeral. Strangely he found nothing standing at his door but the open-air. The squid, confused, cracked his door ajar further until it was fully open. Heart pounding loudly and unsteadily in his chest, Squidward looked toward the left falteringly trying to see where the fish that had knocked on his door had run off to, seeing nothing but the peeling walls of the dour-looking, unmaintained pineapple house of his recently deceased neighbor he threw his vision away from the monolithic embodiment of his guilt toward the right where he was… [spoilers]… Finally, Squidward was about to shut his door, confident that it was nothing more than his guilty conscious playing tricks on him, until he spotted a crumpled-up piece of stationary lying innocently on the ground.

The squid's breath, which was shaky at first, was completely hitched once he saw the paper lying on the ground. Squidward hastily snatched it from the floor and shut the door with a bang, locking it then triple checking to make sure it was secure. He sprinted to every window in his house snapping all the blinds closed so that no one could see inside. Finally, Squidward positioned himself far from any point of entrance to his house, and slowly resumed his unsteady breathing which had been tightly locked in his throat the entire time. He didn't know why, but he felt almost as if he were a convicted felon by just holding that piece of paper, and that the longer he held it the more time some revenge-filled psychopath he had harshly scorned in the past would have to track him down and kill him. All he knew definitively was that the paper was ominously inconspicuous, and that's what made it so dubious to Squidward. No one would go through the effort to make something seem so unimportant, so coincidental, so unassuming without having it contain some serious information. Or at least that's what Squidward's scattered mind reasoned to justify his panicked actions. With violently convulsing hands, the squid opened the crumped pieces of paper to reveal the message hidden within, "The Gild Rusts. Do not trust the one guarded in red."

**(A/N): This has been the first fanfiction I have ever written and I hope I did it well enough. Frankly reading my own work published on this site is slightly embarrassing. I would appreciate if you could take your time and leave a review on how you like the story so far. Advice on what to do better would be very much appreciated, and with that I guess until next time! **


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